


Honeymooning With A(n Alleged) Ghost

by FreckledSkittles



Series: 2019 Barisi ~Spooktober~ [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Based On Buzzfeed Unsolved, Buzzfeed Unsolved References, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, Honeymoon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Barisi, Married Couple, Married Life, Romance, because I said so, i mean it basically is, i mean theyre not professionals but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: Two lawyers walk into a bar. One of them believes in ghosts; the other things it's horse shit. They plan a paranormal investigation during their honeymoon.Or: Rafael loves Sonny so much that he will go ghost hunting with him, even if he thinks it's all bullshit. Featuring references and quotes from Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: 2019 Barisi ~Spooktober~ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529873
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Honeymooning With A(n Alleged) Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is so so late and I'm so sorry, but I can only hope that this fic makes up for it! 9k words of ghost hunting, with some references to Buzzfeed Unsolved
> 
> Not much else to say except thank you to everyone who's supported this fic and encouraging me on Twitter! You guys all mean so much to me and the support you give my fics is so appreciated and does not go unnoticed <3 thank you, friends!
> 
> This series may be done, but my fics are not. Prepare for more fun AUs and the conclusion of my smutfest Barisi fic, and the fic I'm working on for NaNoWriMo let's goooooo

Rafael Barba does not believe in ghosts. Aliens, sure. Cryptids, maybe; if anywhere in the States was going to have a half-goat, half-bat, half-demon in its woods, it would be New Jersey. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a yeti living in the Himalayas. But ghosts are a no-brainer: there is no scientific explanation that supports the existence of spirits. Unfortunately, his husband disagrees, and he’s lucky that Rafael loves him enough to not divorce him for something so silly.

It wasn’t always a topic of discussion between them. It became more prominent during their honeymoon; they decided to split two weeks between Miami, a popular vacation spot for the Barbas, and Long Island, a bucket list item for them to visit and explore beyond the boroughs on its western end. Their plane was delayed for two hours, but they were enjoying their time snuggled together, sharing a pair of earphones while they watch a movie on Rafael’s iPad.

“Did you ever believe in ghosts?” Sonny asks, throwing back a few peanuts.

Rafael scoffs. “That’s a bit random.”

“Teresa caught Mia reading a scary story to Sophia the other night. Some subreddit where people post spooky stories or something.”

“Scary.” Sonny knows how much they disagree on it, so it’s no surprise that he said something to that degree. But he still earns an unimpressed pout for his remark. “Where are you going with this, _ cariño _?”

“I was thinking we could check out some haunted places.” He leans over to pause the movie and digs out his phone. “Here, lemme show you—”

Rafael rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair, resting his iPad in his lap. “There it is.”

“Aw, c’mon, Raf, hear me out!” Sonny leans over to show his Google search. “See, look, there are plenty of tourist spots we can make.”

“Fascinating.” It’s not—the webpage Sonny shows him looks to be full of accusations of unexplained noises, the creaking of old buildings—and, of course, the ones alleging all the voices or pushes over the years. “Will Sasquatch be dining with us, or is he only performing in the dinner theater with Nessie?”

“Alright, sure, it looks fake, but I swear, we can have a lot of fun here!”

“I’ll think about it. If,” he leans over, grabbing Sonny’s free hand and kissing his knuckles, lingering over the newly-placed wedding band, “you promise this isn’t an attempt to try and convince me of the existence of ghosts.”

Sonny sighs and snaps his fingers. “Damn. Looks like we’re shit outta luck.”

They don’t go to any of the sites Sonny had found. Not because they were unwilling, because Rafael would have gone if it had meant that much to his husband. But they were more interested in the Florida beach and city, the sunsets and tans, the relaxation found with wide umbrellas and large bedsheets and poolside chairs. They got wrapped up in their vacation, their honeymoon, their start of married life—hell, Rafael resided a good amount of time lodged in Sonny’s neck, and Sonny barely let his hands leave Rafael’s lower back.

Unfortunately, the question comes up again. They barely land in MacArthur Airport on Long Island, barely reach baggage claim, when Sonny returns from a bathroom break with a tourist pamphlet.

“Look at that,” he hums, “Amityville Horror.”

Rafael eyes him warily. “I hope you’re not about to say what I think you are.”

Sonny holds his hands up in the air but he looks too sly to be innocent. “I’m just saying. Long Island has some cool things to offer, and the infamous haunted house in Amityville is one of them.”

“It’s closed to the public. And as much as I love you, I don’t want to get arrested for trespassing.”

“That’s fair, but—” Rafael grabs their bags off the conveyor belt and starts to pull both suitcases towards the direction of the car rentals. “Raf! Come on, babe,” he jogs after him, grabbing his suitcase, “think about it. There are plenty of normal options for us, but it would be so much cooler if we got a place in a hotel that was haunted.”

“Uh-huh. You wanna make a stop at Block Island too? I hear it’s wonderfully creepy this time of year.”

“Alright, that’s rude, and I’m gonna file for divorce the second we get our car. All I’m saying is that the one time we actually get a vacation, we should do something we won’t do again. Like the cigar rolling we saw.”

That might be the fairest argument Sonny’s had for checking out haunted places ever. It would be a lie if Rafael were to say he wasn’t at least interested in checking out places that boasted about hauntings, but as an avid ghost unbeliever, that was just as bad as admitting to believing in them in the first place. Not to mention that Rafael would rather check a place out for himself than to go off of a YouTube video made by an online media company.

“I have one condition,” Rafael states, and Sonny perks up but lets him speak. “No convincing me that ghosts exist. You can believe in them, but I don’t, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to coerce me into it.”

“Fair deal,” Sonny beams. Without it, Rafael would have doubted why he ever fell in love with this man in the first place.

* * *

The hotel clerk behind the counter grins at them while she books their room. It had taken five minutes and two phone calls to Sonny’s sisters to find a hotel that had a good reputation for hauntings and encouraged investigations. Rafael had hoped his sisters-in-law would understand him, but it seemed like Bella was the only one who didn’t buy into it. He liked all of the sisters equally, but he appreciated her a bit more when she chastised her older siblings for their ghost beliefs.

“I think this is the first time I’ve booked a couple of honeymooners who plan on going ghost hunting,” the clerk says. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Rafael smiles politely. Sonny is too busy gathering every informative pamphlet by the entrance to talk. He’s practically a child with the way he takes the time to read each one and consider if it’s worth taking. “We both appreciate it, even if this was his idea.”

The clerk laughs. “Not a big fan of ghosts, huh?”

“No offense, but I don’t think their existence is possible.”

“That’s understandable. My manager’s husband thinks it’s all baloney too.” The clerk hands him their keys and his card. “Enjoy your stay! If you and your husband want to try out our investigation services, just talk to someone at the front desk and we can get you situated.”

“Thank you.” Rafael grabs his suitcase and calls Sonny over as he heads over to the elevator. The taller man practically bounds over, thanking the clerk as he passes, and shows off the different pamphlets he had pulled out. “Apparently, we have the option to do our own ghost hunting.”

Sonny’s eyes widen. “Really? Like, an actual paranormal investigation?”

“If that’s what they’re calling it these days.” Rafael pushes the button for the elevator and looks at his husband properly. Sonny is practically vibrating on the spot, hopping from foot to foot with wide eyes. It’s mind-boggling to see how much this excites him. “_Amado_, we haven’t even seen our room yet.”

“You saw the description, Raf. This place was built on a hotel that burned to the ground. There were two apparent exorcisms performed here. It even got on ‘Ghost Adventures.’”

“Remind me when we get home to limit your trash television access and your free time with Rollins.” Sonny pouts as they step in the elevator; Rafael presses the button for the fourth and top floor, and the doors close with a slow slide.

“You don’t think this is at least a little exciting? We’re honeymooning with a ghost.”

“An alleged ghost, _cariño_.”

Sonny blows air out of his mouth; the doors open on their floor, and Sonny walks out ahead of him. “Fine. Y’know what, when I get evidence of ghosts, you’ll be the one feeling like an idiot, not me.”

Rafael glares at him, just a few steps shy of their room. He can feel the headache creeping up his spine and coiling around his left temple. “Please don’t tell me you’re considering paying for that scam.”

Sonny only grins. Rafael seriously considers filing for divorce before they even get home to Manhattan.

* * *

The hotel room is a modest size, considering they aren’t staying in a chain and they offer ghost hunting as part of a tourism package. When the Hamptons weren’t interesting enough, that’s what they had for fun. At least there’s nothing in the room that’s suspicious, and it looks relatively clean and well-kept. They won’t have a problem sleeping here. Although Rafael is tempted to sleep in the hallway if he has to hear one more fact about the hotel’s supposed spectral history. “Til death do us part” was becoming a lot closer than he had anticipated.

“So right here,” Sonny says, already splayed out on the bed and skimming over one of the papers he had picked up, “it says that there were two exorcisms performed by the same priest in the hotel kitchen.”

Rafael, still scoping out the rest of the room, snorts from the bathroom door. “Seriously? The kitchen?”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything but what’s on the paper.” He swings his legs in the air so he can sit up. “Some of this is actually cool. Like, see, the hotel that was here before this place used to be near the site of a makeshift hospital for the measles.”

“Ah, yes, thank god that a country where every inch of land is sacred ground for indigenous people has a haunted story for the white population.” Rafael might have been a bit snippy, but what was he to say? He never liked the “Indian burial ground” trope anyway, not when American land was already stolen from non-white, non-European populations.

Sonny, used to his passionate speeches of injustice and already in agreement with him on the inner workings of white patriarchal society, continues. “There was also a murder of a speakeasy owner who was involved with the mob.”

“One of your relatives maybe?”

“Ha, ha, I get it, because I’m Italian.” The glare Sonny shoots him makes him feel better for his earlier comments. “That’s at least interesting.”

Rafael shrugs, bringing out a raised brow and a wide grin from his husband. “I’ll give you one point for that. But not for the period. How many locations in the city are hotspots for the 1920s?”

“Fair. But how many of them are hotspots for mafia crimes?”

“Objection, cause for speculation.” Sonny sticks his tongue out at him; Rafael sits beside him on the bed and pulls his legs into his lap. “Do you have any other bites of wisdom to share with me?”

Sonny hums and closes the pamphlet. “Nah. I like to keep a little mystery.”

“To be continued.” Rafael runs a slow hand up his husband’s calves, and he melts instantly. “Now, are you done educating me or can we use the jacuzzi hot tub?”

Sonny snorts, looking at him over his body. “Are you serious, Raf?”

“Are we gonna spend a week here and not use it?”

They use the jacuzzi hot tub. And fuck in it. There’s a pleasant burn between Rafael’s thighs from where Sonny slid his cock back and forth, matched only by the massage he had received from the jets in his lower back.

* * *

During breakfast at the inn’s own dining room and chatting with over vacationers, Sonny and Rafael concoct a plan of the next few days. They decide on getting familiar with the Hamptons and their surroundings first and spending most of tomorrow getting into the spectral history. Rafael is only a bit surprised when they meet two other couples that are there for similar reasons and is immensely guilty that all four of them are into it. They look concerned over his indifference to ghosts and he starts to wonder if Sonny is truly okay with his stance. When he asks him as much, stating it with a bite of jam-covered toast and a burning gulp of coffee, Sonny nearly drops the syrup he’s drenching his pancakes with.

“What are you saying, Raf?” He asks. His tone suggests he isn’t asking for a repeat of the question but a clarification into why he feels the need to ask it in the first place.

Rafael munches quietly on the crust of his toast to gather himself again and swallows before speaking. “I’m saying that I don’t want my lack of belief in ghosts to ruin our honeymoon.” He continues when he still gets a disbelieving stare and no verbal reply. “I know I’ll say something that looks like I’m making fun of you. I’m nothing if I can’t run my mouth. But that’s the last thing I want to do—I think it’s good that you disagree with me. We don’t have to be the same. But I don’t want my bad attitude to end our honeymoon and potentially our relationship.” He shrugs, posing it as nonchalance, but the hesitance and fright in his eyes say otherwise. Damn emotions getting out when he doesn’t ask for them. “Just wondering, though. Out of curiosity.”

Sonny scoffs, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “If I got upset with you because you made fun of me for believing in ghosts, you have every right to divorce me.”

“That’s a silly reason to divorce someone.”

“Not if you think of it like this.” He drops his utensils so he can reach for Rafael, who eagerly tangles their fingers together. “I don’t expect us to agree on everything. I never did. And we don’t. You have opinions about pizza toppings that I don’t agree with or condone—”

“Your favorite pizza toppings are a different form of cheese and tomato, which are already on the damn thing, and that is worse than having pineapple as a topping.”

Sonny chuckles. “And you picked Derek Jeter over David Wright as the better-looking New York baseball player.”

Rafael shrugs, his smirk slowly turning into a smile. “I’d do it again.”

“But I’m always at your side to watch the big fashion shows and the latest off-Broadway musicals, and you’re by mine when I make March Madness brackets and wanna go ghost hunting.” Sonny raises his hand to kiss his wedding ring and grins. The bastard never understands how much that expression kills him, all extending warmth and deep dimples and pure intentions. “I like being different from you. It’s what make us so good for each other.”

Rafael smiles and leans in for a chaste kiss. His mind is too busy focusing on the words shared between them to make any progress in it, so he presses their foreheads together and sighs. “I’m so happy I married you.”

“We’re married?” Sonny laughs as Rafael shoves him, grinning just as hard. “I was just saying that as a friend.”

“I should have known. All friends make out and fuck each other’s thighs in jacuzzi hot tubs.”

“Yeah, ask Mike.”

“Okay, let’s stop right there, because I don’t know if you mean that as a joke or as a confession, and the fact that it’s possible is scaring me.”

“Looks like you’ll have to tune in next week to find out.”

They finish breakfast, Rafael grabbing two coffees to-go that are definitely for him, and explore the Hamptons. Long Island is crowded with small towns and hamlets, providing an interesting contrast to the bustle of New York City’s boroughs and the almost detached persona of New York State. It’s a pleasant surprise to see how much activity just one town on a thin strip of land can contain. They take note of the roads that lead to Montauk in the east and Fire Island’s tip in the southwest. The former provides a fantastic view of the Atlantic Ocean, standing on the farthest end of Long Island, and an iconic lighthouse to boot. The latter would be a whole day trip, though definitely worth it, and Rafael wonders how accurate of a stereotype their presence will be on Fire Island, which has always been known as a beach haven and a continual host for the queer community.

After touring a few local spots—they’re most likely the only couple in the world who could get away with touring its city hall and admiring the courthouse just for pure fun—they grab lunch for a beach picnic. The dogs chasing after frisbees or trotting along the water make Rafael miss their pets at home. At the very least, Amanda has updated them with constant updates on Jasmine and Bruno and their two-week playdate with Frannie, Jessie, and Billie.

“So today,” Rafael muses, Sonny chomping on a pickle beside him, “we’ll do a little boutique window shopping. Maybe grab some stuff for the squad.”

“And yourself,” Sonny adds. Rafael pinches his side for the snide remark. “You bought three shirts in Florida.”

“I needed all three of them, thank you. Tomorrow, we do whatever paranormal investigation you have planned. And the day after, we can do Montauk.”

Sonny nods eagerly. “I like that. Maybe we can do Fire Island on our way back?”

“Maybe. You know I hate driving in the dark.”

“I can do it. I’m more used to it anyway. And I bet Long Island will be lit up enough for us.”

“Or we can take the train. We’ll have to drop off the rental anyway.”

Sonny laughs softly and kisses his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much about it. We just got here, love.”

Rafael scrunches his nose at the kiss. “My shoulder is going to smell like pickle now.”

“I had two bites, Raf.” Sonny scoots closer to try and smooch him again, but Rafael swerves out of the way, nearly dropping his sandwich in the process. They settle back down, although still prodding each other and trying to get a reaction from the other. Sonny scoots down on the blanket and props his legs up, toes digging between the sand, so he can lean on his husband, his head resting on his knee. “So. Ghost hunting.”

Rafael eyes him warily. “Ghost hunting. I guess you can call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

“I don’t know. A wild goose chase. Brain Dead 101. Unfunny Ghostbusters. Or funny, depending on how you look at it.”

“Jeez, Raf,” Sonny looks up at him, equal parts admirable and amused, “you really don’t believe in ghosts.”

Rafael smiles and pecks his forehead. “No, unfortunately, I don’t.”

Sonny turns to his side to get a better look at him. “How come?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

“Well, there are lots of things you can’t see that are real.”

Rafael snorts. “What can’t I see?”

“You can’t see gravity but that’s real.”

“I can drop an apple.”

There’s a beat of silence, a wave of realization, and Sonny sinks back into himself, glancing away with an embarrassed flush. “Shit, you can.”

Rafael laughs and threads his fingers through Sonny’s hair. “I got your point though. I think the best way to describe it is with Schrodinger’s cat. Until I see it for myself, ghosts are real and unreal for me.”

Sonny pouts. “You know I’m not big with that physics stuff. That’s what Mike’s for.”

“I knew he was more than a pretty face.” He scratches his nails against Sonny’s scalp, dragging a shiver through his body and a deep sigh from his lips. “I don’t want to doubt they exist. I just want to see it. And I haven’t seen it.”

“You think aliens are real and you haven’t seen them.”

“That’s because I look at one every damn day.”

“Objection, hearsay.”

“Overruled.” Rafael starts to move away to finish his sandwich, but Sonny grabs his hand and his attention in one fell swoop. The pure honesty and genuity in his gaze practically melts his heart.

“It means a lot that you’re doing this with me,” he says. He keeps Rafael’s hand between his own, trapping his fingers between coarse palms and long fingers. “You didn’t have to go along, and we could have done something else. But I think it’d be fun for us, even if we don’t catch ghosts, and that’s the only thing I could ask for.”

Rafael cups his cheek and kisses him, this time making it last. Sonny wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him down so that he’s nearly on top of him. They’re still in public, so Rafael will settle for half his body on him and keeping his legs on the blanket, but the gesture conveys all the words that are lodged in his throat. He loves this man; he is thankful for his patience and endurance; he doesn’t think anyone could top the heart and soul of Sonny Carisi. Not by a long shot.

When they pull back, Sonny is smiling like a dope and looking at him with endless affection and trust. Rafael hopes he never gets used to such a genuine stare, such an open expression filled with love. What a man.

“The only thing I can ask for,” Rafael whispers against his cheek, “is your kindness. I already have your love and trust, and those are two things I will treasure forever.”

Sonny groans and tugs him closer so that they’re spread out on the blanket, Rafael’s head resting on his chest. He gets comfortable before he tugs Rafael back for one more kiss and a last “I love you” that is only one of many more to come.

* * *

There are a few rooms at the back of the hotel reserved for paranormal investigating: two bedrooms, a parlor, and a bathroom. They have access to all four but can go to whichever ones they prefer. The inn even supplies some gear for them to use, including a spirit box that will allow them to allegedly talk to ghosts and a camera that is set up specifically on night mode. The camera includes an extra fee to use, but neither of them mind it when it’s rather inexpensive compared to everything else.

Sonny is eager the entire day, hopping from his laptop and reading off quotes, or digging around for a pamphlet with the right information. Rafael mostly listens, reading over his shoulder and doing his best to organize Sonny’s whirlwind of eagerness.

“So the two bedrooms were both crime scenes at one point,” he explains, pointing to two news articles he had found online. “One for the speakeasy owner and another for a robbery gone wrong.”

“And let me guess, they’re both allegedly haunted,” Rafael says. He gives a soft hum when Sonny shrugs. “Alright. What are we looking for tonight?”

Sonny hands him a notepad with scribbled notes. “Mostly whispering in the speakeasy room, a few voices from the spirit box. In the other room, some people have reported cold spots, others feel touching where no one’s next to them. Sometimes an object will end up in one of the rooms that wasn’t there before.”

“Interesting.” Even if Rafael isn’t into ghosts, he can still be impressed with what people have found for themselves and how consistent the separate reports are. “Anything on the parlor?”

“Actually,” Sonny leans forward, as if to emphasize a moment of suspense, “that’s a pretty active area. A lot of voices, a lot of noises you can’t explain. Some people even experience incredible bouts of rage. Just, out of nowhere, they get pissed off.”

Rafael snorts at that, breaking the mood. “If you slit my throat tonight, I’m gonna have a hard time forgiving you for that.”

Sonny smiles. “Will you haunt me for the rest of my life?”

“No, because I’m not an idiot, Sonny, ghosts aren’t real.”

“Fine.” Sonny turns back to his laptop with a casual shrug. “Have it your way. When you start haunting me, though, we’ll see who’s the real winner.”

* * *

That night, Sonny and Rafael—wearing their pajamas, per Sonny’s request in an effort to make things less scary for them—grab the equipment from the front desk and head to the end of a corridor on the first floor. A large door blocks off the rest of the hotel from the supposedly haunted rooms. Past that, they step into a separate hallway that’s much more narrow and looks to be an added part of the building. The two doors they stand between must be for the bedrooms, and the path ahead leads to the foyer. There’s no mistaking the drop in temperature, or the rather old furniture and wallpaper that’s barely hanging on.

Sonny grins when Rafael shivers and grips his upper arms. “Chilly?”

“A little,” he admits. He bites back a smile when Sonny wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “How romantic, Counselor. Was this your way of asking me out?”

He laughs. “Just trying to set the mood.” Sonny takes a look around the hallway and peers into the foyer, a bit more serious this time. “So, uh, where do you wanna start?”

Rafael teases him with a prod to his side and a soft huff. “What, you pick the location and I pick the event?”

“I mean, yeah, basically.” Sonny squeezes his hip as his own taunt. “It’s only fair, right?”

Rafael shrugs and looks at the foyer. There are a few lights at the mantel above the fireplace and from the window outside, but otherwise, it’s mostly dark. Rafael grabs the camera from the bag they had given Sonny and turns it on. “We can start in the foyer and move to the bedrooms. They’re closer to the door, so we can leave when we’re finished.”

“Alright, I like that.” Whatever nerves Sonny had are gone as he walks them forward. There are two maroon sofas and a deep burgundy armchair in front of the fireplace. Sonny leads them to the couch and sits down with him, fumbling with the spirit box. Apparently it was a common instrument with paranormal investigators and used radio frequencies to communicate with spirits. The more words present, the more likely a ghost is talking to them and not an ad from any number of radio stations around them.

Rafael starts recording and slowly pans the camera around the room. “You feeling angry yet?”

“No.” Sonny watches the viewfinder for a moment before he looks around as well. “I know I suggested this for us, but this really is scary.”

“You said that this place was a prime spot for alleged hauntings. You wanna dance with the devil, you have to live with it when he sets you on fire.”

Sonny nudges him with a heavy pout. “I’m not backing down, I’m just saying. I could get possessed. _ You _ could get possessed.” When Rafael rolls his eyes, he continues. “What if you’re talking to me, I don’t respond, and when you turn around, I'm just standing in the corner.”

Rafael snorts. “I would get up, close the door and leave.”

Sonny practically chokes on his response. “You would _ leave _ me?!”

“I’ve watched ‘The Blair Witch Project,’ Sonny. I don’t believe in ghosts but I don’t trust people standing in corners for no reason.”

With a disappointed huff, Sonny leans against the couch. “There’s literally a ghost in that movie, but sure, Raf.”

“It’s a witch, Sonny, there’s a difference between the supernatural and the spectral—”

Rafael stops at a soft tapping coming from the bathroom behind them. Sonny sits up straight, his back going rigid and his eyes zeroing in on the shut door. They hadn’t talked about going to the bathroom to check it out, mostly for time purposes, but from what they had read, there were plenty of sounds to come from that area. Tapping pipes, creaking floors, soft whispers of sound. They wouldn’t be missing out on anything.

“Hello?” Sonny calls out. Rafael turns to him almost in a daze.

“You’re not actually going to talk to them,” he groans.

“What else do you want me to do, have a tea party?”

“Maybe that, or just not have a conversation with it in general. Isn’t that how ghosts—” For a second time, Sonny sits up straight, but this time, Rafael watches his reaction unfold. His eyes widen, his lips part, and his shoulders shake as if cold water had showered over him. It’s unnerving how unsettling it is, even if he doesn’t believe in any of this. “Sonny?”

Sonny’s voice comes out in a tremble, a fearful shake of sounds and hesitancy. “Please tell me you heard that.”

“If I did,” he says, and Sonny whines, “I would. You know that, right?”

“Sure. I think so.” Sonny scrambles for the spirit box, but Rafael stops him with a simple hand on his arm.

“What did you hear, _ amado_?”

“I heard a whisper,” Sonny starts, his hand curling by his ear, voice already raising to the volume it stays in when he starts to ramble, “right in my ear. Right after I joked about the tea party, and it was _right here_, Raf, I swear to you, it told me it liked tea.”

Rafael, putting the camera on the couch, grabs his arm to steady his hurried chatter. “It whispered,” he says slowly, “‘I like tea’?”

Sonny nods fervently. “Yeah, just like you and me are talking, but it was feminine, and I heard it loud and clear—”

“I believe you.” He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if Sonny heard something so real and unnerving, he wouldn’t dare turn him down for that. Rafael eyes the spirit box, still sitting in the camera bag between them. He had initially been against using it, if only because it sounded ridiculous that something could so easily allow ghosts to talk with the real world. If that was the case, it should have been more world-renowned or at least have given the world more evidence pointing to spirits’ existence. Or maybe, as he had argued earlier when Sonny brought it up, the radio interference did more harm than good. “Why don’t we use this,” he taps on the box, “to see if we can talk with it?”

Sonny’s nods are eager, still hard and fast, but the possibility of it being a two-way street for communication must encourage him to relax and get his bearings again. While he does, holding the camera in his lap, Rafael fiddles with the spirit box. It’s a bit too dark to see any buttons or labels, and it feels almost hopeless to try and figure out how to work it.

“I hate this already,” he grumbles, “how do you turn the damn thing on—” Before he can finish speaking, the box comes to life with a loud fizzle of noise. As it searches through radio frequencies and different channels, it (allegedly) provides a road of communication for any spirits around them. No one mentioned it being as loud as the rise of hell. Rafael cringes and holds it away from himself, Sonny reeling back and tucking an ear against his shoulder. “Jesus.”

“Didn’t think it’d be that loud,” Sonny huffs. There are a few breaks between the crackling box that sound like music. “It must be working, then, right?”

“Sure. You’re more of an expert on it than me.” Rafael looks at his husband, who is still gawking at the thing with mild disturbance, and realizes it’ll be better for Sonny’s nerves if he goes first. He has no objections to that, ghost belief be damned; Sonny comes first, and he loves Sonny. So Rafael clears his throat, sits up, and looks around the dimly lit room. “Hello, ah, residents of this room.” Sonny sends him a bewildered stare but Rafael ignores it and focuses on the static coming from the box. “My name is Rafael, and this is my husband, Sonny.”

“Don’t tell him we’re married,” Sonny whispers hurriedly.

Rafael looks at him, deadpanned. “I just did.”

“What if they’re homophobic?”

“I think they’re a little too dead to be homophobic.”

“What if they don’t even know they’re dead?!”

Rafael raises a hand to silence him and turn backs to the spirit box. “We’re visiting here from the city, and we—well, my husband, really, believes you exist, so if you say something for us to hear, that would really make him happy.” Sonny grins at that last part, the last of his worry slipping out of his shoulders, and he leans over to kiss his cheek. Rafael pats his hand gently and returns the gesture.

There are two fizzles from the spirit box, both that are definitely from the radio channels it’s moving through, and then a garble of words. Sonny jumps and leans closer to him, fingers wrapping around the crook of his elbow, but Rafael only glares at the device.

“That’s it? A few mumbles and you’re done?” He looks around the room to check and make sure that no one else is in there with them. “You can do better than that.”

“Do you want to die?” Sonny asks under his breath.

“If you were a ghost, wouldn’t you want to prove to this world that you’re alive?”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna kill myself doing it!” Sonny looks up at the ceiling. “Look, please don’t take any anger out on him, okay? He’s just really snarky—”

Rafael smacks his arm lightly. “Are you mudslinging me to ghosts right now?”

The spirit box crackles again, and then a loud “_spaghetti!_” breaks the air around them. Sonny and Rafael stare at it for a long while, eyeing the device as if it had suddenly come to life, and then Rafael’s hands fly to shut it off. The white noise stops, and they’re drenched in silence again. Somehow, the loud crinkles of the spirit box are more comforting when the only thing around them is absent of noise.

“Please tell me you heard that,” Sonny whispers.

“I did,” Rafael breathes out. “It said ‘spaghetti.’” He taps the camera between them. “Is this still recording?” When he nods, Rafael stands and takes it by the handle on the top. “Grab that thing. Let’s check the other room.”

Sonny scrambles to grab the spirit box and follows after him. “Are we done with this one?”

“Dominick, I love you, and I may not believe in ghosts, but I don’t like this at all, so I want to get this done as quickly as possible.” He goes to open the door, but Sonny grabs his arm and steps closer to him, eyes soft in the dim light and smile tender but hesitant.

“We can slow down if you want. We were allowed to pay for the whole package, so we’re not losing anything.” He kisses Rafael’s forehead and wraps his long arms around him. Rafael leans into it, even though he has no intention of leaving early, and hugs his waist. He was going to stay until they went through the bedrooms, but the sentiment behind the gesture was still nice. “If you’re that spooked, we can leave.”

Rafael smiles and squeezes him tightly. “I’ll leave when you’re ready. This is your plan, after all. I want to finish it with you or not at all.”

Sonny nuzzles his nose against his temple and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s my line, but considering the fact that we’re in a haunted house, I’ll save the divorce for later.”

Sonny snorts and smacks his ass as they break apart. “Go ahead, Mister Barba-Carisi. I’ll see you in court.”

The first bedroom they enter is the one Sonny labels, and how others have referred to it, as the mobster’s room. According to the sources they had read from both the hotel and the local library’s online archive, the building once functioned as a speakeasy, keeping with the Hamptons’ tradition of catering to the rich and famous. It maintained business even when the alcohol ban was lifted, but an uproar in prices created tension between patrons and management. The bartenders quit one by one, never making contact with the speakeasy again, and five months later, the owner is found dead in his room—heart attack, according to the autopsy. The mafia never confessed, but the way they seamlessly took over the building and turned it into a proper bar—and hidden gambling club—was enough for anyone to connect the dots.

“How do we talk to this one?” Rafael asks. When Sonny shrugs, he stifles a snort and sits on the end of the bed. “I thought you were the ghost expert.”

“I know what to _ do_, not what to say,” he chastises, plopping down beside his husband. “Maybe we can try talking without the spirit box first though. That thing is loud.”

“Good call.” Rafael props the camera between them, facing the room; the king-sized bed and dresser are made of dark wood, but the fabric of the sheets and the cushions of the armchair in the corner are a bright red that is faintly visible in the dark. The foyer had more light sources thanks to the windows and two sconces above the mantel, but the bedroom barely had anything providing light except for the tiny red bulb the camera uses to signal when it’s recording. Rafael eyes the door for a brief moment and then glances at Sonny, who is staring back at him with an equally cautious gaze. “Well. I talked to the other one first.”

Sonny scoffs at that and, taking a deep breath, faces the room. “Hey there, ghosts. It’s me. Your boy.” Rafale hides his face in his palm and tries not to say anything. He should show at least a little support for his spouse, right? “I’m Sonny, ah, I’m also Italian. And I’ve heard that you ran into some trouble. I think you’re real, in a spiritual sense, but my husband—the guy sitting next to me, he’s Rafael—would like some proof for himself. So if you wanna, I dunno, push us or say something before we try to use our device here, now is the time to do so.”

Rafael pauses, allowing any possible spirits the chance to speak, before he comments on the wild monologue he just had to listen to. “Did you not only assume that the man who died in this room was Italian because he got taken out by the mafia, but also ask the ghost to attack us?”

“Coming from the man who once gave out his home address to someone threatening to do bodily harm to him. But no, I asked him to _ push _ us. There’s a difference.”

“First off, objection, hearsay. And second,” Rafael jumps to his feet to stand between his knees and shove his shoulders, “this is just as dangerous as asking him to pull your hair.”

“It’s a push, Raf, not a shank! If it’s like this,” he pushes against Rafael’s shoulders, barely disturbing him or affecting his stance, “then we’re fine.”

“And if this ghost is mean-spirited? Or hates Italians for killing him and thinks you’re here to do it again?”

“You’re Italian by marriage now, so—”

Rafael, so offended by the association, the mere suggestion that he could be considered Italian, whirls around on his heels and starts to walk out. He knows the comment is meant as a joke, but still, his mother would have him disowned for that alone. Sonny follows close behind, the spirit box in one hand, the camera in the other, and a protest on his lips. “You’re pushing it, Barba-Carisi,” Rafael frowns at Sonny over his shoulder. “I’m this close to making you sleep down here.”

Sonny nearly drops the equipment when he says that. Now it’s his turn to be offended, fear clouding over misty blue eyes and shattering his core. Rafael wasn’t that cruel, he never would be to Sonny, but just the mere possibility is enough to scare Sonny into desperation. The belief of supernatural entities, of spectral beings, is not important to the overall creepy vibe that he receives from this place. There’s darkness everywhere, he can barely see his own hand; there’s an odd smell that lingers in each room, musty but strong; there are a thousand and one creaks in such a small space, just two rooms and a foyer. How it manages to be a hotel at the end of the day is a mystery.

Overall, Rafael is glad he doesn’t have to spend more than two hours in this place. He has Sonny for company, which isn’t bad, all jokes set aside. They couldn’t do this without each other.

Sonny sets the equipment down on the floor, and Rafael takes him in his arms, tight and protecting. Being the taller of the two and the one who works as an NYPD detective, Sonny is automatically protective of his loved ones, especially and specifically Rafael. His years of therapy attribute it to a fear of rejection, being turned down by precincts and boroughs so many times that it instilled a fear of security in him. And not necessarily in the sense of physical protection from harm. But the encouragement that his job is safe and still his, his family is not going to abandon him, his coworkers will not cease their support, and his partner—his husband—has no plans of ever leaving him.

Like any struggle with mental health, some days are better than others. Sometimes, Sonny can joke about it and mention it without breaking into a sweat; other times, he grips Rafael hard enough to steal his title of koala hugger and have him remind him twice, five times, twenty times, that he is okay, Rafael isn’t going to leave him for never being good enough, as if there was such a thing as Sonny not being good enough. Sometimes, for him, it can feel that way.

So in the middle of an allegedly ghost-infested room, with only an hour left for their allotted time, Rafael clutches Sonny tight to his body and submerges himself in the smell of pine and sunshine. Sonny’s hands curl into his shirt as his arms cage him in, clawing at his back. This time, when he nudges the sensitive spot of Rafael’s back, the only reaction is a frown and a kiss to the temple. Rafael reminds him to breathe, just in case, and to listen to his heartbeat as a reminder that he is okay, and conscious, and safe.

“I’m sorry for my comments,” Rafael murmurs into his shoulder. He kisses his collarbone and rubs the back of his head soothingly, listening for any sniffling or choked tears. “You’re okay. I’m sorry.”

Sonny shakes his head, ruffling his shirt with the motion. “Don’t be. I was warned ahead of time. I’m sorry for reacting this way.”

“You already know you have nothing to apologize for. Especially not your anxiety. I should have known better.”

“Yeah.” Sonny’s fingers curl tighter, his fingers scrape harder. “Yeah.”

They stand like that for another minute—Rafael petting Sonny’s hair, kissing his cheek and whispering soft encouragements in both English and Spanish, and Sonny bent over him, his head buried into Rafael’s neck while he listens to his words and the strum of his heart—before they separate. Sonny, dry-eyed, looks more composed with the moment of peace, rolling his shoulders and letting the overwhelmed emotions fall away. Rafael holds his hand so he can trace over his wedding band, a silent reminder of what they have, just in case either of them forgets. Even when they fight, or disagree, or hurt each other, they know how to come back home. “I’m sorry, Sonny.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers. A smile twitches at the corner of his lips. “I shouldn’t even try to apologize, too, should I?”

“Nope. This one’s all on me.” Rafael rubs his shoulders with a quiet hum. “I went too far in a highly stressful situation. I should have known better.”

“Yeah.” Sonny pecks his forehead and smiles for real, his right dimple caving in further just for Rafael. “But it’s something that I would have played along with in any other circumstance, so it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push it.”

Sonny nods, eager and excited again, almost the same as when they first entered. “Positive. If you’re up for it,” he adds, reaching down to weave their fingers together, “we can finish up here.”

Rafael squeezes his hand and grins back. “I’d be humbled.”

“Wow, is that all it takes?”

He chuckles at the soft barb, met with a teasing wink and a forehead kiss. “That’s all it took. You could have had me sooner.”

“Darn. Maybe next time, huh?”

“In any universe.” Rafael kisses him, long and sweet, reminding himself to always be good and do good for this man, when a loud bang comes from behind. Both of them jump, Sonny a bit more startled, and spin around to face the noise. Nothing is out of the ordinary—meaning nothing has fallen over or miraculously combust into flames—but a lone candlestick now sits on the table beside the bathroom door. There’s nothing else on that surface but a box of tissues, and Rafael cannot remember if the candlestick had been there before.

“You know,” Sonny whispers, voice hoarse as he swallows roughly, “we should just check out the last room. Try out the spirit box one last time.”

“Sure,” Rafael nods, refusing to take his eyes off the candlestick. Sonny has to guide him to the room before it breaks his line of sight, and he can relax again. “Jeez. Was that—”

“Nope.”

“Ah. Good. I like it when objects suddenly appear from thin air.” Rather than sit on the bed, Rafael takes the camera from Sonny. “Do you wanna talk to them? I think they’ll like you more.”

“With the spirit box.” Sonny is already fiddling with the thing in the poor excuse for lighting. “I’m tired of this fucking place.”

“You and me both, _ cariño_.” The spirit box jumps to life again with a scream of static that causes both Rafael and Sonny to flinch from the sound. There is no real way to prepare for that instrument.

Sonny clears his throat and looks around the room. There’s nothing different about it from the other room, except the sheets look more orange than red. “Hello, spirits,” he greets them. “You might have heard already, but I’m Sonny, and this is my husband, Rafael.”

“Hi,” Rafael offers with a small wave and tries not to react too much to the well of embarrassment in his chest.

“We’re looking for ghosts on our honeymoon—because I guess that’s what you do nowadays? You take your spouse ghost hunting?”

“To be fair, we also toured a courthouse that’s not our workplace.”

Sonny snorts at that and shakes his head. “It would be an honor to get some type of sign that you’re here with us—”

“_ No_,” the spirit box spits at them. Sonny freezes instantly at the rather loud declaration, practically stopped in his tracks. Rafael flares at the damn thing for the giant disservice it had done. How dare it cut him off, and during an innocent question no less.

“That’s awfully rude of you,” Rafael huffs. “You couldn’t wait for him to finish?”

The instrument crackles with white noise for another few seconds before a soft “_what_” is emitted from the speaker. Rafael isn’t sure if that qualifies as a ghost or not—maybe if he already believed, the choice would be easier—but he knows Sonny’s conclusion from the second it lands on their ears. His eyes are clouded from astonishment and bewilderment as if his mind is working overtime to try and comprehend everything. Rafael doesn’t want to try and dispute it.

“Do you know where you are?” Sonny asks. His voice is a bit higher than normal, and he’s shifting from foot to foot.

The fuzzy sounds spewing from the spirit box send out a steady rhythm. “_I’m still here_” flows out next, and Rafael just about feels his skin crawl off his body. What was it Sonny said about multiple words unable to be the work of radio frequencies?

“I hate this,” Sonny decides. “I hate this a lot. I hate this so much.”

“I know,” Rafael croaks out, staring at one single floorboard to ground himself.

“That has to be a ghost, Raf, there’s no way—”

“_What?_” the spirit box interjects, louder than the one before, and Rafael grabs the damn thing and shuts it off.

“Look at the time,” he sighs, grabbing Sonny’s hand and hauling him out of the room, out of the foyer, and away from that mess as much as possible, “we have to go.”

He only catches the tail end of Sonny’s comments on the candlestick no longer being there. But he just keeps walking and doesn’t stop until they reach the lobby.

Management, per their package, allows them to search through the footage they had and save anything they captured before it’s deleted for the next round of patrons. Rafael hates that the first shot they had of the foyer has no candlestick on the table next to the bathroom, and he hates it even more when the whisper Sonny had heard is clear with headphones and extra volume. Something certainly told Sonny that it liked tea, and it wasn’t either of them. He scowls when they go over their small argument—Rafael reminds Sonny not to apologize as Sonny reminds Rafael not to beat himself up over something that was already forgiven—and hates the chill that chases up each plate of his spine when they listen to the spirit box again, each wheeze of static and rumble of voices.

If ghosts are real, Rafael isn’t sure how to explain it. If anyone were to ask him for his view, he wouldn’t be able to give them an answer. He can’t tell when the change occurred, or if he simply hadn’t noticed it was there in the first place, but he does know that he went into those rooms with an idea in mind and walked out with a different one. And he isn’t quite sure what to think about it.

Sonny sends the files to himself and hands the equipment over, they return to their room, and Rafael practically dives under the covers, pulling them tight over his chest. He keeps his gaze upward when he feels Sonny slide in next to him and wrap his arms around him. It’s more of a comforting move than a protective one, but Rafael wouldn’t protest all the same. He turns so he can face Sonny and allow him to burrow into his neck, already tangling their legs and holding Sonny against his chest. The bathroom light is on and the door is opened just a sliver so that enough light pours into the room and gives them some sight. The night took a lot out of them, sapping all their energy out, and Rafael wants nothing more than to drown in his husband’s embrace and never return.

If there are ghosts, then Rafael communicated with them and has evidence of them. He isn’t sure if it would have been better to see something other than a rogue candlestick, but he hopes he never has to find out.

* * *

“Where is she?!” Sonny cries out as Rafael pulls his iPad closer to him on the bed. From under two blankets covers, and with a jealous Frannie in the background, Amanda shows their dog Jasmine, huddled in her cave of blankets as usual in the mornings. Rafael coos softly at the terrier face that perks up at their voices, disturbed only by Bruno’s eager jumping at a height that only a lab-pit mix can achieve.

“I miss those two,” Rafael sighs. “I can’t wait to cuddle them again.”

“_They miss you too!_” Amanda assures them, returning the camera to her face, blonde hair pulled back in a sloppy bun and smiling. “_Every time Jessie or I mention them, they lift their heads and stare at the door like y’all are gonna burst through._”

“Just a few more days!” Sonny calls to them. “Your daddies are gonna be back so soon!”

“And Bruno is still taking his medicine?” Rafael asks with a frown.

Amanda laughs. “_Yeah, I thought Frannie was bad when she had kennel cough a few years back, but Bruno is a lil shit. He managed to spit it out and hide it under Billie’s stroller._”

Sonny sighs, Rafael pinching his arm with a huff. “If only someone said as much before we left.”

“If only my ass,” Sonny grumbles.

“_I mean, you guys have him trained well_,” Amanda pipes in. “_He’s only spat it out three times since y’all left and he knows he’s not supposed to._”

Sonny whines as Amanda shows Bruno, playing with Frannie; Rafael pouts and feels his heart hurt with how much he misses him and Jasmine. “Poor baby. Just a few more weeks.”

“Thank you for helping us, Amanda,” Rafael says. “We weren’t going to ask you to take care of five children, but having you ask, and you know them so well already—”

“_No, don’t worry about it, I love being Aunt Manda for them!_” She grins at them. Rafael makes a mental note to do something extra special for her. A weekend of babysitting perhaps. “_Honestly, I’m happy to have them here. I know y’all woulda done the same for me._”

“Anything for his work wife.” Sonny bites his shoulder playfully, and Rafael laughs.

“_So, what else are y’all doing? Did you get to go ghost hunting?_”

Sonny and Rafael share a look. They had talked about it over breakfast and decided that they wanted to be a bit vague with those who agreed with Sonny and those who were on the fence like Rafael. Amanda was on Rafael’s side, surprisingly enough, but they also weren’t about to spill all their touring before they returned. That was reserved for their squad dinners with old and new friends—this one set during a week where Nick was able to visit and Mike was off-duty from JTF—that would surely be the gossip between everyone for the next five months.

“It was interesting,” Sonny says. Rafael nods in agreement. “Y’know, we both learned some new things.”

“_Yeah?_” Amanda hums. The telltale signs of her nosy habit are already kicking in. “_What kinda things?_”

“Oh, you know, Manda, everyday ghosts and hauntings.” He winks at Rafael, who chuckles and kisses his shoulder. They agreed that last night had confirmed that something weird had happened, something neither of them could explain or put words to. Even if Rafael hesitated to refer to it as ghosts, they both agreed it was unnatural and eerie.

“It’s actually raining over here now,” Rafael cuts in, right before it looks like Amanda is going to ask more. She frowns when he stops her, which he takes as a success more than anything. “So we’re taking a day to cuddle and spend time together. Tomorrow is for Montauk.”

Amanda, her mood instantly switching to eagerness again, jumps and grins at her phone. “_Oh my god, Rafael, remind Sonny to take pictures! His camera with that view?_”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Rafael smirks, “he’s not leaving the room without it.”

“_Good, because I will sue both of you if you don’t bring me a nice picture._”

“Go ahead,” Sonny jeers at her, “my law degree isn’t just for show!”

“_Or maybe_,” Amanda grins with a not-so-innocent shrug, “_I can just keep your dogs here._”

“Sonny, divorce her,” Rafael demands, and he shares a laugh with both of them. Amanda has to run to the store, but not without promising a squad call tomorrow and letting Jessie wave and Billie giggle at their uncles. And, of course, not without letting them coo at their dogs and reminding them to behave and not miss them too much. It feels bittersweet but terribly domestic, and Rafael finds himself sighing back against Sonny and shutting his eyes. If this was what married bliss felt like, he would have proposed a long time ago.

“Man, that woman,” Sonny sighs. “I’m so thankful for her.”

“I know you are,” Rafael smiles, and he kisses his cheek while he gets comfortable, assuming his usual position: legs aligned with Sonny’s, thigh to thigh, one draped across him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. A perfect koala. “As am I. She’s done a lot for you and us.”

“I know. And as a single mom, too, Jesus Christ.” They pause for a second, Sonny lightly rubbing his arm, and then, “But if she wants to take our dogs, we can always sic the ghost on her.”

“Alleged ghost.” Rafael ignores the playful pout he earns for that comment in lieu of snuggling closer to him. The rainy weather outside wasn’t terrible, but it derailed their beach plans, and a day in sounded so wonderful and peaceful. They had planned absolutely nothing for the day and the feeling was liberating.

Sonny, eyes wandering over the ceiling, hums in deep thought. “Y’know, I was thinking about the ghost that said ‘spaghetti’ last night? And how we didn’t get to talk to the speakeasy owner?”

Rafael isn’t sure where this is going but he trusts Sonny to not bring them down anywhere wild. “Yes?”

“What if he was Italian and said it to give us a clue who he was?”

He shouldn’t have trusted him. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“I dunno, I think it makes sense.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve connected the two dots.”

“You didn’t connect anything.”

“I’ve connected them.”

“What dots are you talking about?”

“This one,” Sonny points at a freckle on his shoulder, barely visible, “and this one,” he gently prods Rafael’s nose, kissing the tip with a goofy grin. Rafael is neither surprised nor annoyed that he fell into the trap so easily. He’d been in so many before, he stopped trying to catch them. Sonny’s bite-sized shows of affection were some of the only surprises he enjoyed.

“You went through all that,” he grins, “just for me?”

Sonny raises his hands and laughs. “Objection, argumentative and circumstantial.”

“Objection, non-responsive. You can’t escape my koala interrogations.”

“Oh, jeez—” Sonny falls into the blankets, laughing as Rafael showers kisses all over his face and neck, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around his waist. The fact they get to experience life together makes the hardships all the more worthwhile and the rewards all the more valuable. Rafael is just happy Sonny is the one who gets to spend it with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you catch all the BU references?
> 
> Again: thank you to everyone who supported these fics! I hope you have a safe and ~spooky~ day <3


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